OUR VIEW: James Hood — a life well lived

Published: Sunday, January 20, 2013 at 6:01 a.m.

Last Modified: Friday, January 18, 2013 at 6:20 p.m.

James Hood didn’t set out to make history, other than the personal kind.

He just wanted to study psychology and prove wrong the writer of a piece of racist drivel he’d seen in an Atlanta newspaper.

That article questioned the intellectual abilities of African-Americans; to say the early 1960s was a less-enlightened time is an understatement.

Hood, a native of Gadsden, a 1961 graduate of Carver High School, sought to attend the University of Alabama. His quest produced one of the defining moments not just in the civil rights movement, but in this country’s history, and is why Hood’s death Thursday at age 70 put him back in worldwide headlines after a half-century.

The events of June 11, 1963, in Tuscaloosa, preserved in old black-and-white photographs and film, remain vivid.

Hood and Vivian Malone arrived at Foster Auditorium to register as the school’s second and third African-American students (the first, Autherine Lucy, was driven out of school seven years earlier), with a federal court’s sanction and the weight of the federal government behind them.

George Wallace, five months into his first term as Alabama’s governor, stood in the door to block them, fulfilling a campaign promise. The confrontation ended when President John F. Kennedy federalized the National Guard, Wallace obeyed a general’s order to move and Hood and Malone registered and paid their fees.

It was all a show, as Hood recalled in a 2011 interview with The Times. Wallace just wanted to make a point and there was no chance of the students being kept out of the university.

But it was a compelling show.

The university was integrated, for good, as the nation and world watched, signaling the inevitable demise of legally mandated segregation.

Wallace became a hero to those who would not accept that reality, and a national political figure.

Later, paralyzed and in a wheelchair after being shot while campaigning for the presidency, Wallace sought to atone for his actions during that era.

He personally apologized to Hood — whose path had circled back to his home state — and later to Malone (then Vivian Malone Jones; she died in 2005).

Hood only stayed at UA for a few months, leaving not because of any pressure, but because his father was terminally ill.

He moved to Michigan, earned an undergraduate degree at Wayne State University and worked for the city of Detroit. After earning a master’s degree at Michigan State, he spent nearly three decades working for a community college in Wisconsin. Those who knew him saw him as more than a civil rights hero — as a kind, gentle man with a reputation as a consensus builder.

And 34 years after the scene at Foster Auditorium, Hood earned a UA degree, a Ph.D in interdisciplinary studies.

Hood in the 2011 interview said he wanted to be remembered as someone who tried to make the world better — who did what was right.

He did that in June 1963 and throughout his life. He deserves to be remembered for a full life, well lived.

<p>James Hood didn't set out to make history, other than the personal kind.</p><p>He just wanted to study psychology and prove wrong the writer of a piece of racist drivel he'd seen in an Atlanta newspaper.</p><p>That article questioned the intellectual abilities of African-Americans; to say the early 1960s was a less-enlightened time is an understatement.</p><p>Hood, a native of Gadsden, a 1961 graduate of Carver High School, sought to attend the University of Alabama. His quest produced one of the defining moments not just in the civil rights movement, but in this country's history, and is why Hood's death Thursday at age 70 put him back in worldwide headlines after a half-century.</p><p>The events of June 11, 1963, in Tuscaloosa, preserved in old black-and-white photographs and film, remain vivid.</p><p>Hood and Vivian Malone arrived at Foster Auditorium to register as the school's second and third African-American students (the first, Autherine Lucy, was driven out of school seven years earlier), with a federal court's sanction and the weight of the federal government behind them.</p><p>George Wallace, five months into his first term as Alabama's governor, stood in the door to block them, fulfilling a campaign promise. The confrontation ended when President John F. Kennedy federalized the National Guard, Wallace obeyed a general's order to move and Hood and Malone registered and paid their fees.</p><p>It was all a show, as Hood recalled in a 2011 interview with The Times. Wallace just wanted to make a point and there was no chance of the students being kept out of the university.</p><p>But it was a compelling show. </p><p>The university was integrated, for good, as the nation and world watched, signaling the inevitable demise of legally mandated segregation.</p><p>Wallace became a hero to those who would not accept that reality, and a national political figure.</p><p>Later, paralyzed and in a wheelchair after being shot while campaigning for the presidency, Wallace sought to atone for his actions during that era.</p><p>He personally apologized to Hood — whose path had circled back to his home state — and later to Malone (then Vivian Malone Jones; she died in 2005).</p><p>Hood only stayed at UA for a few months, leaving not because of any pressure, but because his father was terminally ill.</p><p>He moved to Michigan, earned an undergraduate degree at Wayne State University and worked for the city of Detroit. After earning a master's degree at Michigan State, he spent nearly three decades working for a community college in Wisconsin. Those who knew him saw him as more than a civil rights hero — as a kind, gentle man with a reputation as a consensus builder.</p><p>And 34 years after the scene at Foster Auditorium, Hood earned a UA degree, a Ph.D in interdisciplinary studies.</p><p>Hood in the 2011 interview said he wanted to be remembered as someone who tried to make the world better — who did what was right.</p><p>He did that in June 1963 and throughout his life. He deserves to be remembered for a full life, well lived.</p>